


Just Temporary Bliss: Backseat Serenade

by blipintiime, cxptained



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Car Sex, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm, you can skip to the smut if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxptained/pseuds/cxptained
Summary: Chapter 3 of Just Temporary Bliss: Extended Edition.AKA: We left 2000 words of smut in at the end.AAKA: Owen and Ianto almost die and then have sex in the SUV.
Relationships: Owen Harper/Ianto Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Just Temporary Bliss: Backseat Serenade

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Temporary Bliss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169968) by [blipintiime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime), [cxptained](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxptained/pseuds/cxptained). 



> Hello! Straight up, you don't need to have read the actual version of Just Temporary Bliss if you don't want to. But if you do want to then don't read this until you've read the first 2 chapters, y'know?
> 
> If you don't want to then all you need to know is this is set just after Cyberwoman and they are sort of following the events of the Big Finish audio Broken!
> 
> If you have read this chapter already scroll down until you're just over half way and the additional smut starts then!

“Ianto!” Owen cries out. 

The Saviour closes in on him.

“You’re a monster.” Ianto’s words are strained through gritted teeth, his gun held steadfast and raised as he looks from Mandy to The Saviour. “The whole world is broken and I’m… I’m the only one who can see it! Oh god.”

“Ianto.” This time it’s Mandy calling out, and not him. 

“Shut up!” Ianto breaks, voice echoing through the basement. His feet stagger back, just a little. 

Owen hears it. Then he notices how The Saviour’s steps make no such noise. He glances down, his brows knitting with nerves as he watches how the alien in front of him walks. Its legs, just like his own, move one in front of the other. Large strides and a confident pace, but it’s feet don’t touch the earth that humans do. The Saviour glides, effortlessly, across the room and Owen’s back hits the wall before he recognises that he’s run out of space. 

“Shut up. I’m--” 

Owen wants to look as Ianto loses his words, but he’s too preoccupied as The Saviour reaches out to him. It’s skin glows. An ethereal, silvery glow that makes it look important. It makes it look God-like. A saviour by name and by nature. Owen understands how they got people to trust it; to enter a portal and disappear into the unknown. 

If you were desperate, truly desperate, and a being who shares qualities with an angel told you he could take you somewhere better, you would take it.

Ianto almost did. 

So many people, promised a better life, and thrown into Hell. 

A hand closes around Owen’s neck, and The Saviour smiles threateningly down at him. A sickeningly sweet smile, evil within itself. The hand that tightens around him doesn’t look solid. It looks like it should pass straight through his body; but it’s grip is unrelenting and cold. The glow crackles against his skin, like an electric energy that makes his throat close up.

Over the pounding of the blood in his ears, Owen hears a vibrating noise and he forces a look over The Saviour’s shoulder. Ianto is staring dead ahead, watching but unseeing with his gun outstretched before him. His eyes are glassed, clouded, and blind. He’s turned off to the situation, checked out of reality and Owen fears it's for good. Ianto brings himself semi-back to reality, only to pull his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen and his hand falls limply to his side. 

Is he done? Is he done with Torchwood? With life?

Owen brought him back from the brink once before, he could do it again. He swears it. But he can’t even reach him. He needs Ianto to pull himself out of it by himself. 

Please, just save him .

Suddenly pulled from the wall, Owen can’t look at Ianto any longer. His back is heading towards the open portal. 

“Get your hands off me!” Owen shouts, limbs thrashing wildly as he tries to pry fingertips from around his throat. His feet drag on the ground, digging into the gaps in the tiles with his heel. The Saviour simply lifts him higher, the hand around his throat strangling him even more than before. His legs kick and he makes contact with The Saviour’s shin but he does no more than hiss in pain. 

They reach the portal and the freezing cold touch of The Saviour’s energy and grasp contrasts with the searing heat that comes from the hazy portal to Hell. Owen changes defense tactics. He braces himself against either edge of the contraption until his knuckles are a blinding white; he doesn’t know how long he can hold on against his attackers' attempts to send him through. 

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to die. 

“Ianto?!” Owen cries out, one last time. It’s a desperate beg, torn and broken by the hand that chokes him. The seconds are drawn out painfully long as sweaty palms almost slip from the portal’s edge and he’s inched ever closer to his doom.

A gun cracks, the sound reverberating off the basement walls. 

There’s one horrifying moment where Owen worries that Ianto has truly lost his mind. He wonders if he shot himself in his spiral of defeating thoughts. He wonders if Ianto shot him as a message to Torchwood that he was done. But a moment later The Saviour releases his grip.

He turns to see Ianto’s face, no longer empty and unavailable but determined and angry and rushing towards him. He pushes The Saviour from the medic, sending them sprawling in separate directions on the floor on the cold, tiled floor. Owen’s knees hit first but the echoes of pain that spiral through his bones are the least of his concern as he gasps for the air The Saviour had denied him. 

The Saviour itself, as ethereal as it is, can bleed it seems. And a puddle is collecting on the floor where it fell. Ianto shot it, not him, or himself. And it was a damn good shot in such close quarters.

Owen looks up, clutching at his own throat as he struggles to pull in the precious oxygen his body desires, and finds Ianto standing between him and danger, holding that gun up to Mandy. 

“Mandy, you have a choice,” Ianto says, though Owen regrettably hears very little from this moment on. The Saviour is on the move and he catches it out the corner of his eye.” You stay here and die, or you leave Cardiff now. You’ve done terrible things, almost got me sent to a slavers planet-- almost got my friend --” Oh friend? He hears that. It sends a wave of something into his stomach. “--sent to a slavers planet. But I’ve done terrible things too. It ends here. Someone out there needs you, the way I did. I know you actually cared, once.”

The Saviour scrambles forward, Owen tries to follow from behind Ianto’s legs but it’s closer to the portal. He gets halfway through before Owen grasps at his ankle. 

“Oh, I… I’m,” Mandy stammers. Ianto doesn’t let her finish.

“You’re sorry, I know. Now get out of here, and I ever see you in Cardiff again, I will kill you.”

The Saviour slips from Owen’s grasp - even wounded it’s stronger than the medic - and disappears completely. He sighs heavily and the air bubbles uncomfortably within his restricted airways. When he looks up, Mandy is gone and Ianto lowers his gun, resting it limply by his side. 

“Shut the portal off.” Owen croaks from the ground. “It’s gone through. Trap it.”

“Right.” Ianto murmurs, pocketing his gun in the inside of his jacket and making his way to the control panel. 

Owen uses the edge of the portal to haul himself back to his feet the best he can. He stands, bent double with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. Though not the most technologically savvy on the team, the portals controls don’t exactly need Tosh to work them out. With the big red button pressed, the hum of the portal disappears, the heat evaporates from the room, and for once there is complete silence within the basement. 

Well, except for Owen’s restricted breathing. 

“Didn’t think you were going to stop him for a minute there.” Owen admits as he fully straightens up, brushing dust and grime from the legs of his jeans . 

“Wasn’t sure myself.” Ianto responds, his jaw clenched with guilt as he looks at the other man. After a long pause, his shoulders slump. “You didn’t deserve that I’m sorry.”

Ianto holds his gaze for a second longer than perhaps should have been comfortable and yet Owen isn’t the first to look away. 

“It’s alright.” He says, which technically isn’t exactly true. It’s not really alright to leave your teammate to die. That sucks. But Owen had seen the way Ianto had looked at that portal. He’d seen the way he’d considered going through it just before he’d gotten there and proved it wasn’t an angelic heaven-like paradise in which to start anew. 

How can he be angry when he sees how much pain that man is in. 

Finally, the moment is broken when Ianto looks away from him and back to the console. He steps back and reaches back into his jacket pocket, removing the gun once again. 

A crack of a gunshot, and then another. There is a buzzing of ruined electrical equipment as two holes burn into the panel. 

“Sorted then.”

Owen stares down at the console as it fizzes into a bleak existence and ultimate death, watching it skid across the floor between them. 

“I figured we’d take it back to the Hub and archive it.” Owen says, unperturbed. “But that works too.”

He stoops to pick up the electronic device as it stops sparking and turns it over in his hands. This box had almost ruined his life. Perhaps, it’s best that it’s useless now.

“Where’s Mandy?” Owen asks, looking up again. He’d been so preoccupied with The Saviour that he’d missed the conversation going on above him.

“Gone.” Ianto says, placing the gun, once again, into its usual spot in his jacket. “Told her she could stay and die, or leave Cardiff for good.” His shoulders shrug slightly. “I didn’t want anyone else to get killed.” He finishes with, perhaps, a touch of guilt (or maybe defensiveness) lacing his tone. He looks to Owen and Owen stares back. 

Had that been the best choice? She had helped knowingly trade people into slavery. 

Owen lets a sigh. What does it matter now? She was gone. It was over, and miraculously Owen was alive. He steps forward, pressing the dead control panel into Ianto’s hand.

“Come on.” Owen says, heading for the door. “SUV’s outside. I’ll drive you home.” 

It’s practically an order, even though he doesn’t really have the standing to give them. But, after almost ending his existence, the least Ianto can do is follow him as he stagges, massaging his throat, out of the basement, the building and towards the car. 

Owen doesn’t check to see if Ianto is actually coming too, but there is no argument from behind him. Nothing but a sigh. 

He unlocks the car, throws open the door and sinks into the seat. Ianto places the, now useless, tech into the boot and in the rear view mirror, Owen watches his face while the man doesn’t know he can be seen. His eyes follow Ianto around the car and into the passenger seat. And while Ianto stares dead ahead out the windscreen, Owen keeps his gaze trained on the Welshman before him.

“I’m sorry Owen, I don’t know...” Ianto cuts himself off, teeth grazing his lips in thought before he continues to speak. “I’m broken and I know--” He stops Owen as though he knows what he’s about to say, “I just have to deal with it. Ever since…”

Ianto is wrong, that’s not what Owen was going to say. He feels a pang of hurt that after so much kindness Owen has shown him, Ianto still thinks he would be cold in that way.

This man just almost killed him. Almost threw him to the wolves, to a slaver planet because he’d been too out of it to focus. Too wrapped up in his own worries and problems to save the life of his teammate. Owen should be angry, should have made him walk home, should have absolutely told him to just deal with it . But he doesn’t. Owen understands what it is to feel lost and whether it’s a good idea, or not, he wants to help. 

Ever since that night, when he’d pulled Ianto Jones from the pill-littered floor of his bathroom and held his hand and comforted him, he’s had this feeling in his chest that tells him he’s not allowed to give up on him. 

He doesn’t know what that feeling is, he hasn’t felt it in a long time. It feels foreign, but almost nostalgic. Like a feeling he felt once a lifetime away. A feeling that has instincts that he follows and the instinct is that Ianto will be okay, if Owen has anything to do with it. He has to be. Owen will make it so. 

“Ever since Lisa, I’ve just been in so much pain, everything hurts .” 

“Ianto, we’re all broken. Every single person on the planet is broken. We’re all just dealing with it.” He says carefully, all too aware he’s opened up to Ianto about his own past before. “Mate, what you feel with Lisa, it’s horrible. And it’s sickening and it feels like it won’t get better. But, take it from someone that’s been exactly where you are, it’ll get easier to survive without her.”

“I know it will, and it has. ” Ianto assures with a certain slowness to the way he speaks. He’s being honest with Owen, just like Owen is honest with him, that much is obvious. “Things felt… better for a bit. Survived the cannibals and things felt like maybe they were looking up. Things at work have been, you know .” 

Owen raises an eyebrow slightly. Tense is the right word. It’s difficult to even be in the same room as Jack and Ianto alone right now without feeling like you might choke on the air. 

“But, I finally had someone outside of Torchwood to talk to. I didn’t tell her anything specific , but she listened.” Ianto sighs, looking down to his hands in his lap as he does so. “Then she turned out to be like everyone else.” He says, the anger Owen witnessed before creeping back into his voice. “And-- and it was like everything immediately went back to the way it was before.”

Square one, Owen notes internally. The night of the cannibals. The night where Ianto Jones had almost taken his own life. He understands. Ianto is going through the motions Owen went through himself, and that’s good. But this was a major step back for him; not only in his mental state but also in his trust of humanity. Owen can’t help but wish Ianto had turned to him instead of a stranger for help.

He does now. 

Ianto finally looks up and in Owen’s direction.

“How do you deal with being broken?”

“I,” Owen snorts. “I have sex and I drink.” He answers casually. Owen watches Ianto do his best not to roll his eyes. Maybe that’s why it’s not best that Ianto sought advice from him instead, either. Jesus, someone get this man an actual therapist. “Not in the alcoholic way, mind you.” He adds quickly. “Just enough to get that good buzz and someone pretty to sleep with in a bar.”

There’s a slight pause and Owen watches Ianto curiously. 

“Speaking of… how are you and Jack?” He asks, an eyebrow raising. “I mean, it’s been nice not worrying about whether the briefing room is sanitary or not but still--” He cuts himself off with a laugh as shock flickers across Ianto’s face. “Don’t look at me like that. We knew. Tosh came back to the Hub late to pick something up and she saw you and Jack going at it in his office. So. How is that, uh, going now?” 

“It’s not .” Ianto says, his hand idly fiddling with a switch on the door of the SUV. “Things are complicated. We talked, after the thing with the fairies, and decided to take some time to cool off. Strictly professional.”

There’s a silence that follows that Owen can describe is nothing less than incredibly awkward. He nods slowly, and almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up. He probably could have guessed that after bringing his cyber-girlfriend into the Hub, trying to kill himself and finding solace at the bottom of a pint glass and an alien-accomplice barmaid, that Jack and Ianto weren’t on the best of terms.

Else, he imagines, Ianto would be doing a lot better right now. 

Ianto looks past him now, towards the darkened pub and Owen follows his gaze. They stare at the empty establishment together, the customers having fled the moment they heard gunshots. There’s no police though, Owen assumes Tosh had something to do with that. 

“Doesn’t seem like drinking has done me any good though.” Ianto says, bringing the conversation back around to its significantly less awkward state two minutes ago. 

“No, possibly not.” Owen answers, shaking his head. “Could try sex.” He says, turning back to face Ianto with a smirk. He laughs shortly. “I’m free.”

Honestly, he doesn’t quite know why he said that. He’s joking, he’s sure he’s joking. And yet the suggestion sits. 

Owen watches as Ianto’s gaze drifts unconsciously downwards to his lips. Is Ianto actually considering this? Is Owen actually considering this?

“Could be worth a try.” Ianto says, the smallest hint of a smirk to match his own finds his lips. It wobbles though, just like Owen’s. They’re both unsure of themselves and yet neither have claimed it to be a joke. 

“Sex is known for its endorphins and… I have always felt better after hooking up with someone.” Is his voice getting higher or is it just him? “Especially someone pretty-- I mean, you’re not… well you are --...” Owen just swallows the next flurry of words that try to escape him because he’s pretty sure he’s digging a hole and he has no idea where it leads. 

“Well, if you say it works…” Ianto says, and the last thing Owen thinks is that isn’t sure if that’s what he was saying at all, honestly he can’t remember the words he said in the past two seconds as he thinks he may have dropped his brain somewhere in the footwell of the SUV. 

But these thoughts are silenced near instantly because Ianto closes the space between them and his hand finds the back of Owen’s head to draw him near as he searches out his lips with his own. It’s far more awkward than any time he’s gone home with someone in a bar. This is stiff with the uncertainty of not knowing if there will be a desire to continue. The alcohol usually subdues this moment of contact, and Owen usually holds a notoriously cool and collected demeanour when it comes to picking up women. And his voice definitely doesn’t go up an octave when he suggests that they make out. 

This isn’t a woman in a bar though; this is Ianto Jones. 

This is the man he finds himself rolling his eyes at more times in one day than he can count; getting annoyed each time they come to blows over a piece of tech they have different ideas about; wanting to punch him when he takes the last chicken wing at dinner. They’re just too different to get along. Far too different to ever come to this . 

And yet, Ianto’s lips are on Owen’s. And he likes it.

Their stories and their inner working match so well they couldn’t see it. But after Lisa, it’s like someone has taken away the fog. How many times now had Owen seen Ianto had given him a reassuring smile along with the roll of the eyes. How many times now had Owen brought Ianto the last pieces of his dinner because he was worried he wasn’t eating enough nowadays. 

Ianto lets a slow exhale slip through his nose and they relax together. Owen sinks into the kiss far quicker than he could have expected. And now, with confirmation given that Owen is into it too, Ianto deepens their embrace.

Owen’s eyes draw closed, and he leans further across the gear stick, parting for breath, yes, but also to reach across and close his fingers around a fistful of Ianto’s shirt. He swallows hard and moves in to initiate a second kiss, desperation creeping into the way they both together. Now that Ianto’s started, Owen doesn’t want to stop.

It’s strange because it’s Ianto but Ianto, now proven, kisses well and his lips are soft and he smells pretty nice too. The cologne he smells daily when he passes by the Welshman’s desk mixed with beer. Owen doesn’t mind that in the slightest and, as he dwells on these softer thoughts, he finds that the questioning ache inside him gets answered.

For weeks he hasn’t understood what this feeling deep in his chest for Ianto had been. Mistaken as simple, deep caring, because it’s been so long he couldn’t even entertain the idea of them being something more. But he knows now, and it’s terrifying.

They’re feelings of the romantic kind. Feelings he hasn’t had since Katie - oh shit. 

He doesn’t have much time to think about the implications of that idea, though because Ianto’s hand rests along the curve of his neck, tongue begging permission to explore him further. Owen gives it implicitly; opening his mouth to allow Ianto to enter. He’s finding he’s enjoying this, the taste of Ianto’s tongue is something he wants more of. 

Ianto attempts to manoeuvre the two of them closer - sex was their porogative after all, and sex does not stop at tongues - but Owen hits his knee on the centre console and the gear stick jabs Ianto in the stomach. 

“Back seat.” Ianto orders, voice low and gravelled and he climbs out of the SUV. 

For a moment, Owen is left motionless in the driver’s seat alone. He is reeling from the way such a growl of command turns him on. But the back door opens and Owen hurries from his seat to join the other man. 

Thank God for blacked out windows, Owen thinks. 

Ianto pulls Owen into him the second both doors are shut and Owen’s eyes widen as he feels a hardness that is not his own against his thigh. Ianto kisses him hard, dragging him closer still so that he’s nearly atop the welshman in one of the rear seats. He may be on top by position, but Owen can already tell that it won’t be his role in this particular endeavour.

He doesn’t mind. Ianto seems to know what he’s doing. Owen also knows what he’s doing but he’s not afraid to admit that his time spent with men in this particular scenario is very limited to the odd threesome here or there where a man simply happened to be present. This? Hot and heavy, fervour in the back seat? This is unchartered territory, and Owen thinks he’d quite like to take his next vacation here. So far, the sights and activities provided have been wonderful. 

Once again, Owen gives himself to the fervous of the kiss of the other man. One hand props himself up above Ianto on the seat, the other works its way quickly to the welshman’s hair. He finds himself whisked away in a wave of passion in the moment as he grasps at the dark strands. Cheekily, he uses it to force Ianto’s chin up and allow Owen access to his neck; pale and unmarked. 

Ianto’s lips part with a sharp inhale as Owen marks his throat. His hands wander down his body until they come to rest on Owen’s hips, fingers squeezing as he holds him firmly against him. It’s lucky that Owen is not a shirt tucked in kind of bloke, because Ianto’s hands slip beneath his clothing, thumbs teasing light at the skin hidden by the waistband of his jeans. Owen’s own breath catches then, parting from Ianto’s skin as he feels a spark through his spine. 

It’s an opportunity, taken by the other man, to steal his lips for himself once again. They’re learning so quickly of the way each other works, how they kiss, how they can fit together here in the backseat of the SUV. 

Their bodies move together, rocking against one another as their kisses only deepen and become more desperate for something more. Owen knows Ianto can feel how he wants him, he can’t hide it after all. Their kiss breaks, the two pulling back only to catch each other’s eye. Ianto’s fingers are at the waistband of his jeans as he looks up at him.

Is this still okay? Ianto asks it silently. Owen nods with a fierceness he doesn’t expect; breathless with a desire for Ianto to touch him in more places than his hands can currently reach. His body burns and Ianto’s fingers can be the antidote. 

Ianto pulls him back in and they return to their kiss; tongue pressing against tongue. He makes quick work of his jeans, Owen notices and his body drives forward once more against Ianto’s own. 

Seconds later, Ianto dips beneath the material and takes Owen into his grasp. He gasps, chest heaving against the other man’s, and his fingers twisting within his hair. Beside Ianto’s head, Owen’s other fist curls into a ball, balancing on his knuckles to hold himself up along the backseat of the SUV. His hips rock, pushing his cock further into Ianto’s hand; a form of begging for them to begin. He didn’t know how much he needed this until it was happening; how much his body craves for Ianto’s against him.

The way Ianto’s hand moves along Owen’s length is slow with intent. His fingers squeezing just enough as he pumps and encourages the way it hardens further within his grasp. The hand not working his erection moves up to his jaw, and Owen swallows hard against the fingers that touch him as his lips are guided back to Ianto’s. 

Owen can feel the way Ianto’s own cock strains against his boxers, demanding his attention. It’ll have to wait because right this second Owen is so swept up in his own sensations that he can barely think, let alone multi-task. Ianto nips at his lower lip before diving back in as kisses grow messy with increasing desperation for each other.

Ianto works him hard, until the room within his jeans is limited and uncomfortable. He groans softly, head tilted back and away from his lips as his cock throbs within Ianto’s grasp as it reaches full glory.

“Please…” Owen whispers, panting as his erection demands a freedom to stand and breathe. He has no idea, until this moment, quite how good Ianto was in this field. He understands how their boss had quickly been enamoured with the man if he’s always this good with his hands. 

Ianto indulges him, taking both jeans and boxers within his grasp and pulling them down until they’re dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Owen watches the way his gaze follows, appreciating what’s been freed and exposed. The majority of his body is still covered, though he knows Ianto and himself are made of completely different stature without the need to remove their shirts. Luckily, he thinks to himself, his cock is not one of those things as it stands to attention for Ianto to see. He’s glad they left the SUV heaters on. Almost instantly, Ianto takes him back into his grasp, returning them to their kiss and working along his length. 

Owen rocks heavily against Ianto’s hand as it pumps around him. His own fingers finally slip down from where they were tangled deeply within the roots of Ianto’s hair and moves them down towards the welshman’s crotch. He makes sure to catch the tight bulge in Ianto’s trousers; palming him above the fabric in, almost teasing, motions as he deepens their kiss. Ianto’s hips instinctively lift into Owen's hand as he rubs him. A gasp is drawn in, breaking their kiss for the briefest of moments, as Ianto moves his palm from Owen’s jaw and cups his bare ass cheek instead, pulling him in closer.

The two move in tandem against each other in the backseat of the SUV, losing themselves within each other’s grasp. Ianto’s thumb grazes the tip of Owen’s cock and his hand twists only enough to add another layer of sensation to the way he works it. It elicits a high gasp from him; his hips bucking involuntarily as he masks the noise with a low growl within his throat. It has his shoulders rolling and within seconds he moves in to veritably attack Ianto’s neck with kisses that use his teeth more than his lips. He sucks marks into Ianto’s skin and doesn’t think about how he’ll have to explain that tomorrow morning at work. 

That doesn’t matter now. 

“ _ Owen. _ ” Ianto murmurs, voice low with want, and Owen realises he’s still palming him over his trousers. He’s sure there would be more to what is practically an order given, but Ianto cuts himself off as he drags him back in for another kiss; tasting and exploring each other with an intensifying fervour. 

He isn’t sure why there’s a flurry of nerves in his stomach at the idea of diving beneath Ianto’s clothing - after all, his cock is already in a man’s grasp. It shouldn’t be any more fear inducing to return the sentiment.

“Okay…” Owen breathes, inhaling deeply through his nose.

Fingers work their way to Ianto’s trouser buttons, one handedly popping them open. That, he knows, is something he’s good at. He can also remove a bra with one hand without looking but the chances of Ianto such a thing is rather slim, he assumes. He pulls down trousers and underwear alike, in the same manner as Ianto had done to him before, and kicks the material away and into the footwell. 

He pulls back from a messy kiss, glancing down at Ianto’s length. He raises an eyebrow before looking back to its owner with an approving look. Owen receives a flustered look of both smugness and shyness somehow combined in return and he damn near melts a kiss into Ianto’s collarbone at the sight. The two have never seen each other in such a vulnerable state. It’s terrifying, yet right, and Owen wouldn’t change it for the world. 

It’s then that he takes a breath, and wraps his hand around Ianto’s burning erection starts to pump slowly, back and forth. He’s never done this before - taken another man’s penis into his hand and worked it to its release - but he finds that having his own cock has proved to be good practise in knowing what feels good to a man. 

He’s rewarded with the sight of Ianto’s head canting against the vehicle’s seat and the sound of a breathy moan torn from his lips. That will stay with Owen for the rest of his life. His own desire is already desperate and spilling but as Ianto struggles against his own need to push his hips against him as they tend to each other, it almost sends him over the edge there and then.

For a while, it stays like this. Hungry kisses that miss their mark and land along mouth to jaw to throat; hands finding a rhythm of strokes and then suddenly changing to keep them on their toes. Ianto seems determined to hear the sounds Owen can’t keep controlled as he works his way into a climax and he is rewarded as expletives fall from the medic’s lips in the dirtiest manner. Owen revels at the sound of strained groans as Ianto’s lips and teeth work expertly against his skin.

Owen comes first. It’s not unexpected for his first time within a man’s grasp. The nerves and the build up, and the want leading only to a faster release. As he nears it’s not missed by Ianto and the commanding hand that still squeezes his bare ass tightens, holding him firm and in place while his hand works with more intent. 

His abdomen tightens and Owen finds he has to break away with Ianto’s lips to tilt his head back and release the flurry of swears building inside him. 

“Fuck!” Owen moans louder than he realised he would. His hips rock desperately into Ianto’s hand and he has to remember that he must keep working the other man’s length as well; his desire is no less important than his own. “Ah…!” He cries out, unable to catch his breath as his core grows hot and his mind empties and his sight blinds.

He releases into Ianto’s hand. 

Owen pants desperately for air, still rocking as he comes down from an intense high. Gasping inwards he swallows hard and looks down, eyes landing on Ianto’s face. 

Ianto Jones just made him come. 

Ianto Jones just took control of his cock and made him come.

He isn’t sure that any moment in his life could have predicted this. But he doesn’t find he wants to change it. 

Ianto’s hand continues, moving languidly along his spent cock, allowing him to come down from his orgasm, and it reminds him once again that Ianto has yet to feel the same release tonight. Owen gathers himself and continues to work to pump hard and fast. With his own desire met, it’s far easier to concentrate on what he does. He notices how Ianto cranes his neck, watching how his hand works along his erection, and if Owen hadn’t just come already it would have stirred something in him all over again. 

His thumb brushes the tip of Ianto’s cock, the same as Ianto had done to him just minutes ago, but he continues. His hand wanders lower, further, cupping Ianto’s balls and squeezing them lightly. It’s then that Ianto lets out the most undignified moan that Owen has heard so far tonight; dragged from his throat, low and coarse as lips hang open and breaths fall fast and heavy.

Ianto cannot possibly last much longer, Owen’s sure, and finally his own cock is dropped and instead Ianto grasps desperately at his hips, transferring white liquid from his hand to Owen’s own skin as fingers dig in and grounds himself among his unravelling. 

When Ianto comes it’s loud; groans intermixing with ragged pants. His eyes squeeze shut and his head falls back and Owen finds himself missing the beautiful bright blue that seemed to glow with desire and want. He spills into Owen’s hand, hips bucking as the wave of his orgasm washes over him. He watches as Ianto’s teeth bite down hard on his lip, attempting to keep some semblance of control over his volume unlike Owen. It couldn’t be said he had failed, however, simply hadn’t bothered trying.

Elation sparks within Owen’s chest as he feels the hot, sticky substance spread across his palm; sees the way their chests heave simultaneously, sweat glistening across their foreheads and along their thighs alike. 

Ianto opens his eyes and Owen smiles, met with the blue he missed so dearly while it was gone. He’s still held firmly against the welshman and as Ianto’s gaze wanders the length of his body before coming to rest on his face with a raise of a brow, Owen realises that the moment after is a little awkward. 

They start to move off each other - Ianto sitting up and Owen moving backwards and onto the seat itself, his back against the car door. 

“Feeling better?” Owen asks, though there’s a lump in throat he almost chokes on. His breaths are still heaving, his chest moving rapidly in front of him. 

He lets his head fall tiredly on the blacked out window and it cool against his hot skin.

Ianto twists his body in front of him, reaching down and fumbling in the dark. He pulls up his own underwear first, using them as a makeshift rag to wipe his hand of Owen’s release. Owen himself, can’t help but smile smugly at the sight.

“Could say that, yeah.” Ianto answers as he reaches out and offers Owen’s trousers and boxer to him from the footwell. 

Owen leans forward and takes them into his grasp. The smirk on Ianto’s lips as their gazes meet is evidence that he must feel  _ quite  _ better. 

The medic follows Ianto’s idea, using his underwear to clean off his hand of Ianto’s orgasm and wiping down his hips and thighs where Ianto had imprinted it onto his skin. 

“Good.” Owen says with a nod. After all, this was what this had been about wasn’t it? Making Ianto feel better in a time of crisis… not at all about realising his own feelings for the man in front of him. He laughs shortly. “I did say sex was full of endorphins.”

  
  



End file.
